


Anniversary

by owlmoose



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: F/F, F/M, Masturbation, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-29
Updated: 2011-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:51:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/pseuds/owlmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All alone in the night, Ivanova remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anniversary

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XI. Prompt was "Susan Ivanova, memory".

The galactic rim is a lonely place, the vast distances between the stars stretching into great swaths of nothing, which is just how Susan Ivanova likes it. Captain of the Earth Alliance Ship Artemis, deep space exploration vessel; she had asked for this assignment and all the others like it, each one taking her closer and closer to the edge of known space, each patrol more remote than the last. The farther from ground she had already trod, the better. The distance makes it easier, somehow, to keep moving forward. Always forward, never back.

But one day a year, she allows herself to turn around, to look backwards and remember. That day, this day, she closes the observation lounge, locks the door, and stands here alone, a bottle of wine in her hand, and she stares through the window, facing in the direction of Earth and Epsilon 3. She pours herself a glass of the wine, and lifts it to what she thinks is the right star.

"To the Captain," she says, and drinks. "To the Conspiracy of Light. To the Alliance." Tipping her head back, she drains the glass, then pours herself another. "To--" Her throat closes, and she stops. She is not yet drunk enough to say the names aloud, and so she proceeds to get drunk enough, finishing the second glass in a matter of minutes and then throwing it aside, barely hearing its tinkling crash as she abandons all pretense and drinks straight from the bottle.

Stars, so many stars; she looks at them all, taking in their hard, cold light, unforgiving against the blackness of space. Taking another swig from the bottle, she barely tastes the wine now, only feeling the burn down her throat, the heat in her stomach. She steps forward to the window and leans forward, resting her forehead against the cold windowpane. When she closes her eyes, she can see them, the twin flames that still burn, one on either side of her heart.

The first is Talia, a steady flame, cool and strong and logical. The smoothness of her hair under Susan's fingers, her control just barely not slipping from the depths of her blue eyes as they touch. They had shared only one night together, but Susan remembers every caress and every taste, the reactions burned into her skin as though she had spent a thousand years learning the secrets of Talia's body.

And then, as always, Susan's thoughts turn to the other, to the fire that blazes hot and bright: Marcus. Talia's opposite in every way -- dark, smoldering, passionate where Talia was controlled, naive and eager where Talia was brisk and practiced. Not even one night of memory, is Marcus; he had never been more than a thought, barely even a fantasy. And yet, more often than not, it is Marcus's face that Susan sees when she wakes in the middle of the night, covered in sweat, nerves jangling with unmet need.

"Marcus," she whispers, her barriers finally melting with the last of the wine, turning her face so that her cheek rests against the smooth glass, the stars blurring as a sudden rush of tears come to her eyes. For it is Marcus she comes here to remember, this year and every year, on the anniversary of his death. The death he spent to buy her life at too high a price, and she will never, ever, understand why he chose to pay it.

She says his name again, and the now-empty bottle slips from her fingers, thudding to the floor. The stars are gone now; she sees only his face, then Talia's, then his again: light after dark, hot after cold, bright bright bright... her hand slides down, beneath her waist, and she begins to stroke herself, wishing desperately for either of them, both of them. The woman she loved and the man who loved her. Different in every way, except that they are both lost to her forever. Another rush of tears, hot and wet on her cheeks, and then an incoherent cry as her pain and her need release together and all at once, wracking her body with shudders-- sobs-- pleasure-- her legs start to give way and she slams her free hand against the window, propping herself up until the tremors subside.

Finally, she allows herself to relax, sliding down the window into a heap on the floor, breaths coming hard and fast. Will it always be this way? Will she ever be able to separate desire and grief, love and pain? Or are they forever twinned, like the lovers of her memory, like the double star she sees spinning in the distance?

Susan lifts her head, pulls herself into a sitting position. She knows, from bitter experience, that this is not the night for answers; it is a time to mourn, and to remember, and to let herself feel the things she dare not feel in the light of day. Her staff knows to leave her undisturbed. With a sigh, she lies back down, stretching out on the floor and, with only her arms for a pillow falls into a deep sleep, demons kept at bay for just a little longer.


End file.
